by Jessi Gage
How amazing! The little thing was born with an instinct to survive, and her mother, even while malnourished, was able to not only give birth to her but also provide sustenance.
Wonder expanded in her chest as she watched Terran bring one of Aifric’s hands up to rest on the baby. He whispered sweetly. To mother or baby, Connie wasn’t sure. She stood and tiptoed out of the room, leaving the little family to their privacy and hoping Aifric would recover and be all right.
When she returned to her room, weary and hungry, it was to find Wilhelm pouring steaming water into an ewer. “Take off your clothes,” he said. “I intend to bathe you.”
Chapter 7
Shock and lust held Connie paralyzed in the doorway.
Wilhelm had traded his poupoint and hose for a linen shirt and simple trousers. Both garments looked like they could use a washing, as did the man himself. Grime and sweat streaked his face. Between that and his faint odor of earth and hard-working man, her heart thumped extra hard, pumping blood spiked with attraction.
The son of a baron and laird, he would be considered nobility. But he had clearly worked hard today, not demanding service, but serving instead. And now, he wanted to serve her.
For a heart-stopping moment, she wanted to let him. Heck, she wanted to let him do more than bathe her. I’ll undress if you do first. It was on the tip of her tongue. But no. She was not about to undress in front of a man she hardly knew.
It must be her exposure to the love between Terran and Aifric making her desire a connection with this warrior from the past. She had no doubt an intimate interlude with Wilhelm would prove exceptional, but short-term flings weren’t her style.
In one day, two tops, Wilhelm would be a memory, nothing more. Her dream had given her hope that this shopkeeper Leslie had spoken with might actually exist. She needed to find him. Or at the very least return to Druid’s Temple so she could make her way back to the present day.
“No, thank you,” she made herself say. She kept her voice low so no one overheard her Midwestern-American accent and tempered her refusal with a smile. “I can wash myself. I wouldn’t say no to something to eat, though, if you have anything handy.”
She winced, realizing she’d just treated Wilhelm like wait staff at a hotel. It had to be the stress of the day. It wasn’t easy seeing someone suffer, especially when they’d already been through so much.
Poor Aifric. Thank heaven the baby appeared healthy. That had been far from a guarantee considering the young mother’s condition.
Wilhelm watched her with intense blue eyes while he untied the laces of his shirt. The linen parted, revealing nothing underneath but fair, firm skin.
Connie gulped.
“You mistake my meaning. ’Twas no’ meant to be a request.” He let the shirt slip down his arms. It fell to the floor, but her gaze remained glued on Wilhelm.
He. Was. Magnificent.
His skin was paler than the linen he’d just shed. Creamy and smooth, his muscular chest and torso made her want to lap him up like the most decadent white chocolate. And maybe even take a nibble.
His broad shoulders were so thick with muscle she would be hard pressed to get a good grip if she wanted to give him a massage, and she did want to give him a massage. She’d never wanted that with any other man, but here she was wanting to dig her fingers into Wilhelm’s flesh to ease his aches after a hard training session or simply to bring him pleasure.
An enticing line drew a path from the hollow beneath his throat between his massive pectorals, through his ridged abdominals and down past the high waist of his trousers, where her gaze couldn’t follow.
“I shall bring you supper soon,” he said, yanking her gaze back up to his face. “But first, I. intend. To. Bathe. You.”
Power and intent radiated from him like heat off the hood of a race car. Places low inside her clenched as for the first time in her life a man issued her an order and she wanted to obey.
But obeying Wilhelm would lead her to places she did not want to go.
“I hardly think that’s proper,” she said, lifting her chin. “Thank you for the water, but I. Intend. To. Bathe. Myself.” She echoed the command in his voice, a tactic that usually made men think twice about how they spoke to her.
Wilhelm only grinned. His eyes hooded.
The look caused her a pulse deep between her legs. No man had ever looked at her that way before. Nor had her body ever reacted so obviously to any man before.
She couldn’t allow the novelty to distract her. She must keep her distance from Wilhelm but she must also take care not to offend him. His cooperation was vital to her returning home. Maybe she should be more respectful when addressing him. He probably didn’t have many women challenge his authority.
“Think you I would trespass on your person in any way while we take shelter in a holy place?”
“Trespass on my person?” Was he saying he wasn’t going to do more than actually bathe her?
“Aye, lass. Trespass. Take liberties. Touch you with unseemly intent. Ye ken my meaning.”
She nodded, her mouth gone dry at the thought of Wilhelm taking and touching and doing whatever the heck he pleased with her. “Y-you said you won’t, um, trespass on my person?”
“You have my word I shall not defile you in any way. Now undress for me, lass.”
She believed he was a man of his word. His promising not to molest her should be a comfort. Instead, it caused a bitter pill of disappointment that she swallowed down along with her temptation to capitulate.
Did he really not want to “trespass on her person” because they were in a holy place or was that just an excuse? Did he not find her pretty enough or feminine enough? Was she too bitchy? No man had ever shown more than a perfunctory interest in her sexually. This had never really bothered her before, but at the moment, the words Wilhelm likely meant as a comfort left her feeling rejected.
Never mind. It shouldn’t matter. He shouldn’t matter.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she countered with, “I don’t show my body to just any man.” Truth. She had always been selective. In her twenty-eight years, she’d taken only three lovers, all of them chosen carefully and compatible with whatever life goals she’d had at the time.
“I am not just any man,” he said simply, and everything about him from his posture to his actions backed up his claim.
He wasn’t just any man. He was regal and impressive, strong and genuine. He valued honesty and fairness. He moved in political circles. He was special. And alluring in the extreme.
If she didn’t have her sights set on Inverness and finding her way back to Leslie, she would consider trespassing on his person, holy place or not. If he weren’t part of a world five hundred years in her past, he would be just the kind of man she might select for herself.
“Nevertheless,” she said, making her voice firm. “I would prefer to wash myself.”
He took the final step to close the distance between them and cupped her face in his hand. His touch was warm, and it weakened her resolve.
“You may leave your small clothes on, if you wish, and I will wash only what skin you choose to show me. But I long to bathe all of you, lass. You’ve still the stench of smoke to you, and you’ve Aifric’s blood on your hands. I’m fair proud of you for your hard work today and your bravery yester eve. You have earned a thorough bath. You have earned my service.
“There is no fireplace to warm you, and there is no hipbath for you to sink into and thus preserve your modesty. These things you deserve and much, much more. Would that I could give them to you here, but I cannot. Will you trust my word, lass, that I intend nothing untoward?”
His words sank in slowly, like the soothing heat from his hand. His pride in her meant more than it should. His humility in wanting to serve her meant even more, especially since she suspected he’d worked all day while she’d been resting and sitting with Aifric, being next to useless. Knowing what little she did about him, he liked to be clean and
put together. He was putting off his ablutions in favor of taking care of her.
“I suppose a bath would be welcome.” Maybe bathing a near stranger was customary in this time. Maybe it was considered an honor to be tended to by a member of the nobility. Deciding to treat the situation thusly and to trust Wilhelm’s sincerity, she uncrossed her arms and let them fall to her sides, an invitation.
“That’s my lass.”
His lass? Why did that make her heart stomach do a roll?
He curled a strong finger in the ribbon lacing up the front of her overdress. The sleeveless straps kept slipping down over the threadbare linen of her borrowed shift, as if it had been fitted for someone broader through the shoulders than she. After loosening the ribbon, he brushed his knuckles up her arms, carefully avoiding the outside of her breasts on his way to those straps.
How could a simple touch make tingles race up and down her entire body? It was like Wilhelm’s fingers closed a circuit when they came into contact with her and she sparked to life in new and interesting ways.
Down went the straps. The overdress puddled at her feet, and even that sliding of fabric on fabric resonated in barely-there pops of sensation all over.
Her eyes fluttered closed. She had thought herself moderately worldly, but this chaste touching was better than any sex she’d ever had. She wanted to stand there and revel in this feeling forever.
The shift Anselm had brought her that morning had a large opening for the collar. It took but a brush of Wilhelm’s hands over her shoulders to send it rippling down to meet the dress on the floor.
She was naked. When the cool air tightened her nipples, a moan escaped her lips.
“Are you in pain, lass?” He whispered it near her ear. His breath was hot, as were the shivers that raced up and down her body.
She should be cold, but Wilhelm radiated warmth, and he stood close. Very close. And he smelled of fields and grain and livestock and sweat, all things she had never associated with sexiness, until now.
She wanted him to touch her. His palm to her upper arm. His lips to her jaw. His forehead to hers. Anything. “Pain? Hmm?”
“Your feet.” His breath on the side of her neck did more to arouse her than anything Milt had ever done to her. “They were fair burned yester eve. Anselm told me he brought you a salve.”
Oh. The fire. Heavens. She’d nearly been burned alive. It still seemed so surreal, but it had happened. The lingering discomfort in her feet proved it.
Now she burned in a different way. She burned for more of Wilhelm.
From his innocent caresses and the heat in his gaze, which was not even remotely innocent, she gathered he was willing to give her more. But he wouldn’t. He would remain true to his word. No sex in the monastery. His promise allowed her to enjoy this, enjoy him. It was just a bath.
“Yes. The salve. He brought it.” She was babbling. She made herself shut up.
Just then, she heard voices beyond the closed door.
She made an X with her arms to hide her breasts.
“Easy, lass.” His grip on her shoulders grounded her.
If anyone came in, he would shield her body with his. She knew this instinctively, and the knowledge pleased her. Still, knowing they could be walked in on ruined the relaxation she’d begun to give in to.
Glancing at the closed door, she said, “There’s no lock. Someone could come in.”
“Aye. They could. But they willna. Terran is busy with Aifric. Anselm kens I’m tending to you. He also kens I would sooner fall on my own sword than compromise your virtue.”
She blinked. Her virtue? Was he merely being chivalrous or did he actually think she was a virgin?
He turned his back to her to bend over the ewer. His sculpted shoulders moved, muscles sliding under skin, as the sounds of water being wrung out met her ears. He had dimples near his shoulder blades that she had a sudden urge to explore with her tongue.
But she wouldn’t do any exploring. She reminded herself this man would be long dead by the time she returned home.
A lump formed in her throat.
Wilhelm faced her with a soapy rag in his hands and heat in his gaze. His irises were a blue so pale they seemed to glow like diamonds in the candle light. As he stalked toward her, she couldn’t look away from those captivating eyes.
Her anxiety slipped away, and she lowered her arms to her sides.
He froze. His gaze fell to her breasts and lingered there. “You are fine, woman,” he said. The husky notes in his voice spoke of lust and hunger.
Pride warmed her from her toes to the top of her head. He found her attractive. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. Oh, it did.
He might be nothing but a memory in a few days, a man long dead. But he was alive now. Very alive, as evidenced by his tented trousers. He was hard for her.
Never before had a man’s erection made her feel powerful and beautiful. Always before, she’d reacted with mild curiosity when faced with the biological phenomenon. She’d accepted it as a fact of life, and when she felt like it, she would treat her lover to a few moments of pleasure, taking some for herself in the process.
With Wilhelm, she found herself salivating at the way his trousers became taut over the head of his erection. She could only guess at his size and shape, but even the suggestion of his form pulled delicious threads of arousal through her until her whole body felt like a sexual instrument.
Her breasts ached for touch. Her abdomen tightened with anticipation. Her sex quested for filling with tiny, needy pulses. Everything felt connected. All her parts sought for fulfillment together. Remarkable. Beautiful.
She had never wanted like this before.
Wilhelm came close enough that only a whisper separated his chest from her breasts.
Even this closeness caused her pleasure. A frisson of awareness lifted every fine hair on her body to attention. She breathed his name. “Wilhelm.”
“Aye, lass.” His voice was low and intimate. “I feel it as well.”
Did every cell in his body reach for her the way hers did for him? If he felt as wonderful in her presence as she did in his, he hid it remarkably well. His face remained passive, and his eyes looked only where they needed to as he washed her, beginning with her neck and working his patient way down to each individual fingertip. His gentle rubbing left cool tingles on the surface of her skin and trails of fire beneath, but he never touched her in any way that suggested this was anything but a bath.
With a force of will Connie had never called on before, she held back her urge to moan as his large hands returned to her neck and spread slick and strong over her collar bones and below. He spent no more time on her breasts than on any other part of her. She should be grateful he was holding to his word, but instead she experienced a pang of disappointment.
When he reached her mound, she bit her lip. Lithe fingers worked the soap into her curls, but they did not dip between her legs. While he worked, his hot breath ghosted over her face. Only his hand touched her, but she felt enveloped by him. He seemed above and below her, in front and behind.
His tall body blocked her field of vision and his shoulders bowed around her. She longed to have those shoulders above her while she lay beneath him, to have blankets capturing their heat, turning them from two to one.
What was happening to her? She’d never had thoughts like this for any other man.
It’s all physical, Connie girl. It’s simple biology. Don’t make more of it than what it is: attraction. Chemistry.
But she’d dated attractive men before and never reacted to them like this. What if she never met another man she reacted to like this? Now that she knew this kind of chemistry was possible, how could she not include it in her plans for her life? She would have to add chemical attraction to her list of qualities for a prospective spouse, but the likelihood of finding a man who met all her other qualifications and doing this to her physically seemed unlikely.
Wilhelm continued down her body, crouching to wash on
e leg at a time.
“So smooth,” he said, fingers slicking her shin and calf, stimulating the skin behind her knee, which she’d never once given thought to before. “Do you nay grow hair here?”
“I shave it off,” she said, her voice breathy.
His eyebrows went up, but he said no more. Nor did he ask her to spread her legs so he could wash her intimate region. He had not touched her anywhere she would consider a trespass. Disappointment made her head swim. It was difficult to think with him touching her body but not her neediest place. He was so close yet so far away.
Forcing her brain into gear, she decided to make conversation. That would keep her from fantasizing about him trespassing on her person.
“Why Wilhelm?”
He stopped his washing. “Why me?” he asked, brow cocked in confusion.
“I mean, why did your parents give you a German name? Are you from German descent?” She would believe it given his light coloring.
“Ah.” He nodded his understanding. “No. We are Scots through and through. My father chose my name for its similarity to Anselm’s. When they were lads, they attended university together and became fast friends. Anselm’s name means ‘protected by God’ or more literally, ‘God-helmet.’ My father named me partially after Anselm but altered it to mean ‘strong-helmet.’ Wil-helm.”
She could listen to him talk for days. His brogue was thick but understandable, sexy in the extreme. Even sexier was the intentionality of his speech. He struck her as a man who thought before he spoke.
His father had gone to university. Did that mean Wilhelm had too? She had never given much thought to advanced education in medieval times, but here was an apparently well-educated warrior, a man as smart as he was strong.
“It’s a nice name,” she said.
His only response was a brief glance and maybe, unless it was a trick of the candle light, a flush of extra color across his cheekbones.
“Why Constance?” he asked after a while.
She smiled at the playful rise of his eyebrows as he mimicked her question. “My mother says it’s a family name, but I’m the only Constance I know in our family. Maybe it dates back to previous generations.”
